


Myth's Interlude: Moonlight

by starlily11



Series: Heart of Steel AU One Shots [4]
Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Heart of Steel AU, It's an AU, Let's face it if Waltz and Myth worked together they would be unstoppable, Lucette had Empath abilities, Myth is OOC, We need the Witch Trio, and somehow this turned into a multi-ship thing, what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlily11/pseuds/starlily11
Summary: Myth’s breathing turned ragged. “I tried to play two sides, and I lost both times. If I had just left things alone, Hildyr would have disappeared the moment Lucette turned eighteen when the Tenebrarum claimed her as its new Bearer, and none of this would have happened.” A hoarse sob tore its way out of him. “I might as well have shoved her off of that cliff!” The last words came out as a roar, and Waltz flinched.In the wake of Lucette's death, Myth and Waltz are left with nothing but regrets. Faced with a sea of should-haves and might-have-beens, they work together to hatch a plan that challenges destiny itself.
Series: Heart of Steel AU One Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1479797
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Myth's Interlude: Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This interlude takes place just before "Another Time and Place." A plot is trying to form, but canon is fighting me.

_‘I have to hand it to her,’_ Myth thought to himself as he perused the set of notes in front of him. _‘She was a quick study, and thorough, too.’_ He had always prided himself on his intellect, but reading stack upon stack of notes written in his Princess’s graceful, precise handwriting left him humbled. Not only had she managed to teach herself at least two dead—or practically dead—languages, she’d managed to find one commonality in a millennia-old code constructed from the combination of the aforementioned languages and use it to de-code the Hekataian Codex. At least, she’d started the job. Now it was up to Myth to finish it. He had to admit: without her notes, it would have taken him years to make any kind of progress. But thanks to his Princess, his progress was slow but steady. It had taken some time to puzzle out her notes—as lovely as her handwriting was, her organizational system left much to be desired—but he’d managed to find the path she’d followed and piece it together.

Finally, after almost six months, he’d managed to fully translate the spell that he and Cresswell needed: the spell that would allow them to turn back time and save Lucette. Cresswell’s little star, and his little moon...his Princess. _‘We’ll have her back soon,’_ he thought. _‘I can make this right.’_ And he would not waste the chance, by the gods. He wouldn’t let Cresswell do so, either. The price would be high, but they would pay it. Anything was worth Lucette’s life. Even their own lives in exchange. They would not fail her. They could not fail her. Not again. 

_“How far back do you want to go?”_ he’d asked Cresswell. 

His rival had thought carefully for a moment before answering: _“I was thinking to the beginning, when her powers first awakened. That was when things started to go badly for her, and maybe I could stop it before it gets out of hand.”_

Myth understood that. Truly. But still, there were some flaws to that plan. _“Is that wise?”_ he’d asked. _“Do you really think Hildyr wouldn’t notice that you’d aged five years? What if you ran into your past self? What if you ran into **my** past self? You know the laws of magic as well as I do: tampering with time and space is forbidden. But since we’re already breaking that particular law, we need to think about the effects. If your past self sees you, you’ll go insane, and time will unravel. Then we’ll lose Lucette for good, and the entire universe would implode in the bargain.”_  


If it were left solely up to him, he would gladly let the world burn for the way it had destroyed his Princess. He had no use for a world that didn’t have her in it. But if this spell worked, she would be here again, and letting a world with her in it unravel was unacceptable. So, he would play nicely for now. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was her. 

In the end, he’d managed to convince Cresswell not to go quite so far back in time. Dealing with Hildyr a second—or was it third?—time wasn’t something either of them wanted to do. Furthermore, if Hildyr were to realize the truth, there was really no telling what she would do. At this point, Myth would wager that if she ever gained an idea of what was going on between her apprentices and her daughter, she might kill Lucette out of spite. That outcome was also unacceptable. Eventually, he and Cresswell had agreed to aim for shortly after the end of the War. That way, Cresswell would be able to work from the shadows with minimal interference, and might be able to enlist help from within the palace without running into his past self.  


By help from within the palace, he meant Fritz. And possibly his own past self. Perhaps if his past self could be freed from Hildyr’s grasp sooner, his little moon would have more support. Surely that would be to the good? And Sir Fritzgerald had been devoted to her; surely he could be persuaded to join their cause. Come to think of it, perhaps Varg would be useful to them now, in their current present. Cresswell may be oblivious, but Myth was not. He’d seen the Lucis Bearer and that witch—what was her name? Dolores?—watching Cresswell. They were suspicious. It was getting harder and harder to hide from their prying eyes. That would need to stop. Immediately.

* * *

_Temporal Shift_   
_Caster, beware this spell. By the laws set down by the Moirae, to tamper with Time is a crime of the highest order, punishable by death and eternal suffering in Tartaros. However, if the intent be pure, the Gates of Time will open before you. Take heed, Caster: use of this spell comes at a price. Should Chronos open his Gates to you, he will claim most of your power in exchange. Should you cast more than one spell following your entry into the past, your life will be forfeit._   


The former rivals fell silent upon reading these ominous words. “Well, no one can say we didn’t know what we were getting into,” Cresswe—Waltz, his name was Waltz, Myth corrected himself—said. The tone was light, but Myth could see the strain on his face. 

“If you’re not willing, I can always do it myself,” Myth replied. Still, he couldn’t quite blame Waltz for his reaction. For a witch, losing their power could be a great deal like losing a limb. 

  
Waltz shook his head. “No. I knew there would be a price to pay. I’m willing to pay it.”  


Being reduced to one spell, though…Myth closed his eyes briefly against the headache that had been threatening to come all day. One spell was all that Waltz would have at his disposal to help Lucette. How could one spell alone save her? No, that would never be enough. There had to be some way to give Waltz more to work with…wait. Myth shuffled through the Codex again.There had been something…

The thud of a cane hitting the floor broke his concentration, and both witches glowered at the dark-haired rogue that came striding through the door. Ever since Lucette’s death, Fritz had surfaced rarely, leaving Varg in his place. “What is it, Varg?” Waltz asked.

“I just thought you two should know: the other witch and that fairy are sniffing around. They’ll be here in a few minutes. I recommend you two hide…whatever it is that you’re doing.”  
A thought flashed through Myth’s mind then, and he turned his head to look at Waltz. Amber eyes met crimson, and Waltz’s eyes flashed with realization. As one, they both turned to look at Varg, who took a step back. 

“No. Whatever you two witches are planning, I’m out.”

In a voice Myth had never heard from him before, Waltz said, “But you’re perfect for the job, Varg.” His voice was smoother than the finest silk, velvet-sheathed steel. “Surely you wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to save the Princess.”  


Varg shook his head, taking another step back. “You’ve gone crazy, witch. The Princess is dead. There’s no saving her anymore.”

Myth took a step forward, shooting Waltz a look. ‘You’re only succeeding in alienating him, Cresswell,’ his eyes said. He moved forward, and Waltz stepped aside, turning away from Varg. “You’re right. Our Princess is dead. But what if I told you that Waltz and I have discovered a way to change that?”  
Varg’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened their grip on the cane Myth had equipped him with. Had that really only been a year or so ago? “What exactly are you talking about, witch?” the rogue asked. When Myth opened his mouth, he added, “And don’t dance around the subject.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Myth’s tone was icy. “It turns out that the Princess had found and translated part of the Hekataian Codex, which contains a number of very powerful, very effective spells. One of them is a spell for time travel.”

Varg raised his eyebrows, or at least, that’s what the subtle movement of the mask that covered his face suggested. “I’m listening. What’s the plan?”

“First you need to get the Lucis Bearer and the other witch away from here,” Myth replied.

Varg shot him a glare, but disappeared through the door. Myth turned to Waltz, who looked vaguely amused. “What?” he snapped.

Waltz held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Nothing. It’s just…for a minute there you reminded me of Lucette.” He chuckled. “Whenever she got annoyed, she would get all icy, too. Not to mention sarcastic.”

Myth found his lips turning upward into a smile despite himself. “She never had much tolerance for nonsense,” he remembered. “Our Princess was many things, but foolish was never one of them. Nor was she ever fond of stupidity in others.”

“I miss her,” Waltz said quietly.

“As do I. But we’ll have her back soon enough. The spell will work, and you’ll do whatever it is you plan on doing, and with any luck, she won’t have any reason to go to those damned cliffs.” Myth returned to the Codex, and rifled through the pages again.

Ah, there it was! He tapped the words with his finger. “There’s our solution to the one-spell problem.”

Waltz joined him, peering over his shoulder. “ ‘Energy Transfer,’” he read aloud. “What…? Are you serious?”

Myth nodded. “I am. We both know that one spell alone isn’t enough. As the Tenebrarum Bearer, you have the power to make this spell work, but we now know it’ll claim most of that power. But if we can form an energy link, you can draw from my power, and that’ll give you a larger buffer. Let’s hope that it’s enough.” He kept his gaze on the pages in front of him.

Waltz’s tone turned worried. “But it would drain you…and from across time itself…the distance would kill you eventually.”

“Do you think I care about that?”

Waltz placed his hands on Myth’s shoulders and spun him around to face him. Myth glowered at him. “I’m not a spinning top, Cresswell.” But the annoyance faded when he saw his former rival’s face, brows drawn together in worry. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Waltz still gripped his shoulders. “This could kill you, Myth. Why does your life matter so little to you?”

Myth sighed, brushed off Waltz’s hands, and leaned against a wall, for once abandoning all pretenses. Fatigue washed over him, and he barely resisted the urge to slide down to the floor. “For years, I served Hildyr with you. In all that time, I can count on one hand the number of times she praised me compared to you. She would have destroyed both of us. You got out, Cresswell. I didn’t. Even when I did everything she ever asked of me, she treated me like I was nothing. But then our Princess--.” He had to stop as the pain of losing Lucette hit him again, threatening to tear what was left of him apart. “Our Princess came along, and she showed me what it would be like to serve under a Queen who valued those who served her. When I was at my worst, she still sought me out, treated me like I was worth something. She never once compared me to you. I was always Myth, and that was enough for her.” His voice broke on the last words. “Now she’s gone, and I know a good portion of the blame for that belongs to me. She gave me so much, and I gave her little else but grief in the end.”

“That’s not true,” Waltz said. “When Hildyr tried to kill her, you stood between them and shielded her.”

“But who forced her to free Hildyr in the first place?” Myth’s breathing turned ragged. “I tried to play two sides, and I lost both times. If I had just left things alone, Hildyr would have disappeared the moment Lucette turned eighteen when the Tenebrarum claimed her as its new Bearer, and none of this would have happened.” A hoarse sob tore its way out of him. “I might as well have shoved her off of that cliff!” The last words came out as a roar, and Waltz flinched. 

But, true to form, he still reached out. He rested one hand on Myth’s arm, and the other arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Myth…listen to me. Yes, you made mistakes. But the point is, in the end, when it came down to a choice between Hildyr and Lucette, you chose Lucette. None of us knew what she was going through.” He closed his eyes, and Myth saw a pain on his face that equaled his own. 

Waltz continued: “For my part, I will never forgive myself for leaving her like I did. I should have taken her with me when I left, even when I thought her memories of me had been erased.”

“Hildyr would have hunted you down and killed you,” Myth pointed out. “There’s no way she would have let her daughter stay in the hands of someone she viewed as the enemy, if only because of how she could be used. Furthermore, would you have wanted to bring her onto the battlefield? Because that’s likely where she would have been at some point.”

“…no. No, I wouldn’t have wanted that for her,” Waltz admitted. “But I still should have tried to get in touch with her afterwards.”

“Between the two of us, you and I could spend years going over what we should have done and didn’t do for her.” Myth held up the Codex. “But this will give her…and us, a second chance. If giving you an extra buffer while you’re in the past will achieve that, I will gladly give my life to save hers.”

Sorrow filled Waltz’s face. “You’re a good person, Myth. Whether you believe it or not.”

Myth shook his head. “If there’s any good left in me, it’s because our Princess put it there.” Switching attitudes, he pointed to the door. “Now, go. Rein Varg in before he draws too much attention to himself. And explain to him what it is we’re going to do.”

Waltz raised his eyebrows, and his smile was irony incarnate. “Yes, m’lord. Anything else?”

“Out. Now.” Myth pointed to the door.

* * *

If you asked the average inhabitant of Angielle what they thought best kept secret of the kingdom was, most of them would probably offer answers such as where the crown jewels are kept, whether or not there was a secret passage under the palace leading out into the city, or whether or not Crown Princess Lucette and Sir Fritzgerald were secretly lovers. Here’s a hint: these answers would all be wrong. The best kept secret in Angielle was one not even the King knew. No one knew about it except Myth, and he’d discovered it completely by accident during Hildyr’s reign of terror.

Underneath the royal palace, with its opulent ballroom, luxurious bedchambers, and spacious kitchens, lay a stony chamber, its floor overrun by tree roots. A series of arches opened up into a network of tunnels that led all over the kingdom, almost making up an underground city to match the one above. However, where the city above bustled with life and light, this underground city lay deserted and silent, and had done for the-gods-alone-knew how long. Now, Myth knelt in the center of the main chamber with a knife, carving a warding circle into the floor. As he worked, the tree roots around him awakened, shifting slightly as power flowed through them. Veins of green and gold flickered into being, creeping upwards from the tips of the roots and weaving into stone walls. Light filled the circle, and when it threatened to blind him, Myth turned the knife towards himself. At a mere touch of the blade to his skin, flesh leapt apart, and he cast the blood onto the stone and nearby roots, sealing the spell.

A look of satisfaction formed on his face as the spell hummed in his bones. Now any prying eyes would be diverted, and he and Waltz could get back to work. Nothing would stand in the way of their efforts to see Lucette returned to them…Myth wouldn’t allow it. He would see the world burn first. Fatigue pressed all its weight on his shoulders, but he forced himself to his feet. There was still work to be done, after all.

When he returned to the small chamber in a mostly-forgotten corner of the palace that served as the central location for his and Waltz’s activities, he found Varg waiting for him. The first words out of the rogue’s mouth were: “This is a terrible idea.”

“Your comments are noted.” Myth walked to the table where a green crystal lay, glowing faintly. Next to it laid the copied text for the time travel spell and the energy transfer spell. He picked up the crystal, concentrating intently on the small, star-shaped flaw in the center. A glow surrounded him, and small bolts of lightning sparked all over his body. They flowed over him, arcing over each other until they gathered at his arms, flowing into the crystal. Sweat poured down his face, but he didn’t let up. This was for his Princess, after all. He willed energy into the crystal until he felt the warding spell falter. Then he released his grip on his power, and replaced the crystal on the table, breathless.

“What was that, witch?” Varg again. Another pest, but a necessary one. 

“That was an energy transfer, rogue,” Myth sniped. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Varg shrugged. “Not really. For some reason, the fairy and that other witch left all of a sudden. They seemed confused.”

Myth made no effort to hide his satisfaction. So it had worked. Good. “Good riddance,” he said aloud. “So, if you think this is such a terrible idea, why are you still here?” 

Varg was silent for so long that Myth began to wonder if he’d turned to stone while he wasn’t looking. Finally, he replied: “Because I know you and the other one are doing this to save Little Red. Maybe I think she deserves a second chance…even if this whole idea is batshit insane.”

“So I can trust you will remain silent about this matter to…other interested parties?”

Varg rolled his eyes. “Yes, witch. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Myth nodded, and turned his attention to the time travel spell:

 _Caster, take heed. To ensure safe passage, you will require:_  
 _A Beacon, something of the past to act as a guide in the rivers of Time._  
 _An Anchor, to bind the Caster to the Time and Place._  


It went on to describe a truly complex potion that required half a dozen rare, difficult to acquire, or expensive ingredients. All of it would go towards forming a crystal much like the one that resulted from a successful casting of the energy transfer spell. Both crystals would act as containers for the spells until broken by a spark of power, at which time they would come into effect. As he went down the list, Myth made note of possible suppliers and which ones he might be able to send Varg out for. The beacon and anchor would need to be supplied by Waltz, since he was the one who would be travelling back in time.   
‘Hold on, little moon,’ he thought. ‘Keep fighting, for just a little longer.’

* * *

  
They were almost there. Waltz had chosen Lucette’s journal as his beacon, since it contained the very essence of the woman they all hoped to save. One of the few family heirlooms he had left would act as the anchor, binding his current existence to the past time so he wouldn’t be sucked into the primordial void. The potion was ready and awaiting Waltz’s part. All they needed was the journal. And the King was proving difficult.  


Myth shared Waltz’s newfound contempt for King Genaro Britton III: after all, he’d been present during the council meetings when some of the more vicious factions after the war had cried for the Princess’ blood. He’d watched the King sidestep the issue again and again, only fighting back when forced to do so. At the time, he’d merely been observing as one of Hildyr’s pawns, but the King’s reticence had irritated him even then. He could only imagine what it must have been like for his Princess, watching unseen as a bunch of people she’d never even met callously demanded she be put to death simply because she was Hildyr’s daughter. The thought sickened him now. He hadn’t said anything at the time, either, as he was still new to his assumed role. No one would have taken kindly to the young advisor speaking against his elders. Even when they were so clearly wrong. Still, now Myth wished he’d said something. 

Regardless, at the moment, the King was a problem. Ever since Waltz had given him the journal, he’d been reluctant to part with it. Myth understood, but at the same time couldn’t bring himself to feel much sympathy for the man. After all, he’d only grown a backbone when absolutely necessary. If he’d bothered to fight the early battles, so much could have been avoided. If he’d fought for his daughter, she may have survived Hildyr. If he’d bothered to look after his throne, Alcaster would never have come so close to taking it from him. If, if, if…it made Myth want to scream. Now the King was holding on to the last piece of his daughter that he could, and it happened to be the thing that Waltz and Myth needed in order to save her. 

“We must get it back,” Myth told Waltz firmly. His former rival, while determined to save Lucette, still had some scruples about stealing her journal from her grieving father. “Otherwise, everything we’ve done so far will have been pointless.”

Waltz’s eyes slid away from Myth’s face, and the formerly corrupted witch sighed. “I’ll take care of this. You focus on the final steps of the time travel spell and saving our Princess. Are you certain of the anchor and beacon you’ve chosen?”

Waltz nodded. “I am.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked: “Should we consider asking Varg—.” Myth cut him off.

“No. That rogue still can’t decide whether or not he wants to kill me in my sleep. I refuse to entrust something so delicate to him. I’ll do it.”

Waltz, still looking worried, hooked an arm around Myth in a one-armed hug. He gave the other’s shoulders a light squeeze and whispered: “Good luck. May the gods be with you.” Then, while Myth was still gaping at him in confusion and a certain amount of annoyance, he disappeared into the shadows. Over the past several months, they’d all clung to the shadows to remain hidden. Now, the moment was almost at hand. That fairy and her followers would never see this coming.

In. Out. In. Out. The deep breaths Myth forced himself to take steadied him, and he gathered the remnants of his power to him, praying to some nameless god of luck to get him through this. He’d never been particularly lucky, but perhaps some of Waltz’s optimism had rubbed off on him after all this time. Varg couldn’t be trusted to steal anything without making a scene, but he could be trusted to keep any pests at bay while Waltz finished the time travel spell. That left Myth to tackle the difficult work, as usual. 

_‘I am shadow. I am an unheard whisper, the last teasing phrase of a half-remembered song. I am ash in the wind…I am not here…’_ This was Myth’s mantra as he stole through the palace halls. Only the servants charged with the most menial of tasks were still up, and they were far too busy scrubbing floorboards and churning butter to notice shadows shifting here and there, to see the faint ripples in the air as Myth’s waning magical power struggled to hold up the invisibility spell that kept him hidden. The hallway lamps were burning low, casting shadows everywhere, which made his job a little easier. Left. Right. Slight angle towards the right again, followed by two sharp lefts. As he passed Lucette’s room, a pang of sorrow struck him, and his hands clenched into fists. _‘Control yourself,’_ he snarled inwardly at himself. _‘Focus. Get the journal and make sure Waltz gets it. Before you know it, this whole timeline will be a might-have-been, another bad dream brought on by Hildyr’s tyranny. Now, go!’_  


Taking care to keep his footsteps light and as close to silent as possible—aided in this by a muffling spell—Myth made his way to the King’s bedchamber. Once there, he paused a moment. Sweat poured down his face from his exertions, and his drained magical core ached. From below the palace, the warding circle that hid his and Waltz’s activities cried for more of him as that damned fairy and her accomplices continued to hack away at his defenses. They held, but would not do so for long. Energy ebbed from him faster than he could restore it, and he leaned against the doorframe as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. More power flowed away from him, and he couldn’t hold the invisibility spell anymore. The illusion collapsed, and Myth inwardly praised himself for having had the sense to slip a powerful sleeping potion to the guards who would otherwise be guarding the King’s door right now. Instead, they were sound asleep…and they did it standing up. Thank goodness…the spell’s failure hadn’t awakened them.

The door was unlocked. Myth gripped the knob and turned it, taking it slow as he pushed in, willing with all his might that it would not creak. He angled his body to prevent a sudden spilling of light into the room, and slipped in, closing the door softly behind him. It took a moment, but his eyes adjusted to the darkness. A single candle burning in the corner aided him in this, blending light and darkness together into something he could navigate with relatively little chance of being seen.

The King and his wife lay in bed together, sound asleep. Good. The sleeping potion had made its way to them as well. He didn’t think he had the strength left to cast a spell that was strong enough to subdue them and subtle enough to avoid making a scene. He moved closer to the bed, casting a glance at the tables on either side of the bed, searching for the brown leather journal embossed with golden lilies. Nothing. 

He turned to the desk, and discovered several documents. Most of them were standard administration forms, tax documents, and so forth. However, he also glimpsed what appeared to be plans for a change to the gardens. More specifically, plans for a monument to Lucette. A small pond with a fountain blooming with water lilies, the center piece of which would be a life-size statue of the Princess. Next to it, providing shade, would be a tall oak tree. All of this would be surrounded by as many white lilies as the plot of land would hold…the same lilies most favored by the Princess when she was alive. _‘Oak,’_ he thought. _‘For power and courage.’_ Few would notice the symbolism, but Myth did, and his heart was struck by the King’s tribute to his daughter. _‘If only he’d put so much effort in while she was alive,_ ’ the bitter part of him whispered. 

Shaking off these thoughts, Myth opened the drawers of the desk, careful to make very little noise. The first two yielded nothing: just spare rolls of parchment, quills, ink, and various other supplies. The third held the journal. Myth lifted it out, holding it reverently, gently stroking one of the embossed lilies. He fancied he could still feel Lucette’s presence faintly emanating from the small volume. He thought he also smelled her favorite perfume, a delicate mingling of lilies and sandalwood, with the lightest touch of vanilla.

In the next moment, he tucked it under his coat and stole out of the room again, becoming another shadow in the night. He’d done so just in time: no sooner had the door clicked shut behind him, the warding circle flared in warning, then fell silent. A touch of foreign magic brushed against his consciousness, and he knew: the fairy and her witch ally had broken it. The breaking of the spell sent him to his knees, coughing. A metallic taste filled his mouth, and red splashed onto the stone beneath him. Damn it. Between the energy transfer spell and the wards, he’d burnt himself out. Only dregs remained. He continued to cough, unable to stop. The sharp, metallic tang of blood continued to fill his mouth, and his lungs refused to cooperate with him. Blackness gathered at the edges of his vision, and he. Could. Not. Breathe. 

_‘I’m dying,’_ a distant, aware part of him whispered. _‘I’m dying, and I am alone.’_ Waltz was finishing the spell, and Varg was with him. They were waiting for him to return with the journal. Still coughing, with shaking arms, Myth retrieved the journal from his coat. Gathering those last dregs of his power and a single burning kernel of light from deep within himself, he opened a portal to where Waltz waited, and shoved the journal through.  


His lungs screamed for air, and his throat was raw and dry, yet blood still crept upwards, spilling from his mouth. Myth collapsed, air rattling out of him, limbs jerking out of his control. Everything was up to Waltz now. Moonlight poured in from a window at the other end of the hall, but it only touched dust.

* * *

Waltz fell to his knees, and he tasted blood in his mouth. Green-black hair and amber eyes flashed across his vision, and terrible pain burned in his chest. The sensation of his magical core being shattered roared through him, and he cried out. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pain fled, leaving him raw. Varg watched him, face blank of all expression, but his eyes told another story.

“Whoa…are you still alive, witch?” the rogue asked.

“Myth…” Waltz gasped. “He’s dead.”

_“What?!”_ The rogue strode over and pulled Waltz up by the shoulders. “What do you _mean_ that bastard is dead?!”  


“He burned himself out,” Waltz gasped out, still reeling from the pain. He was beginning to understand how Hildyr had gone insane. Myth’s death had been bad enough, but the burnings from the Hunts, happening sometimes five at once…he could only imagine how that would have felt. He looked Varg in the eyes, and his expression must have looked as wild as he felt, because the rogue’s fingers tightened around his shoulders, as if prepared to restrain him or throw him against a wall if necessary. “He burned himself out to buy us time, Varg. We need to do it now. Delora and Parfait will be on us any minute.” He turned to the table, and part of him relaxed as he saw the journal. Myth had delivered, even at the cost of his life.  


_‘I’m coming, little star,’_ he thought. He picked up the crystal that contained Myth’s power and tucked it into his pocket. He gathered his energy, and turned to the cauldron where the time travel spell simmered, waiting for him. It was the pale blue-white of moonbeams. Of starlight. “Guard the door, Varg,” he ordered. “We can’t afford any interruptions.”


End file.
